Needs
by Jess9
Summary: Sometimes what we want cannot fulfill our needs.
1. An Informal Rejection

Needs  
  
By Jess  
  
Author's Notes: I know that "Let the Seller Beware" ended at night. Well, today folks, it ended in the morning. :) I remembered that detail at the very end of writing this. Whoops!  
  
Disclaimer: The characters in this fictional story do not belong to me and I do not receive anything for writing this.  
  
Summary: Sometimes what we want cannot fulfill our needs.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Spoilers: This takes place directly after the last scene in "Let The Seller Beware," but I'm not sure how much I'm going to talk about it. There is talk of TAIE, though.  
  
Archive: Please don't.  
  
Feedback: Always appreciated.  
  
  
  
CHAPTER ONE: An Informal Rejection  
  
I turned on my heel and left. I couldn't stand there obediently as he removed his glasses, lowered his head, and, as he eventually would because he always did, raise his head and give me a patronizing look. I sighed and focused on the linoleum as I walked toward the exit. Maybe he would not have patronized me, but I wasn't about to stand there and taken whatever he would have given me. I couldn't wait; I'd been waiting for years.  
  
"Hey, Sara, how'd the case go?"  
  
I hadn't noticed Nick Stokes on my walk until he reached out and touched my arm, stopping me. I looked up. He looked tired, on the brink of haggard; he was holding a file in his hands. I struggled for the words he had spoken. "It's over. Yours?"  
  
He frowned and removed his hand from my jacket sleeve. "The perp's in custody. Both of them, actually." He leaned in closer and asked, "Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah," I nodded, swiftly meeting his eyes and then taking mine away in a blink. "The case just took a lot out of me."  
  
"Well, I'm heading out right now. I was thinking about breakfast. Would you go with me?" I took a deep breath. I didn't want to go home and be alone, but I didn't want to converse. Nick tilted his head a little and pouted. "Please?"  
  
I frowned at him and said, "Don't act like a five year old."  
  
"Hey, if that's what it takes to get you to go to breakfast," he grinned. I hesitated more and he offered, "It's on me. I'll pay for your toast and... whatever else you eat for breakfast if you don't eat meat."  
  
I smiled, then, and remembered how kind he was. A little human contact would be good, I decided. "Sure, Nicky."  
  
He grinned and for a moment I wondered what it would have been like to see him in high school, smiling triumphantly as his football team won a Friday night game. He snapped me out of my reverie as he touched my arm once more and said, "I need to give this to Grissom and get my jacket out of my locker. I'll meet you outside?"  
  
"Sure." He headed off, more quickly than he usually walked, and I turned to continue on my way. He was going to Grissom's office. I wondered if Grissom was still pondering my departing comment or if he had resumed his work. I paused and looked over my shoulder.  
  
He certainly hadn't come after me.  
  
Nick didn't take long and soon we were in his Tahoe, driving through Las Vegas. He stopped at a stoplight and put on his left blinker. "So how was the vineyard?"  
  
"What?"  
  
He grinned and looked both ways before accelerating across the intersection. "I was only a few yards away, Sara. I heard you tell Grissom where you were."  
  
I smiled and looked out my window. "It was nice."  
  
"Did Hank enjoy it too?"  
  
My smiled disappeared at his side comment and my head slowly rotated to him. A small smile waltzed on his lips and he looked at me, just for a second, and looked back at the road. "Hey, Sar, it's no secret."  
  
I laughed, the exhausted laugh that I use all to often. I nodded and said, "Yeah, that's the common consensus."  
  
"Between?"  
  
"You, Grissom, Philip Gerard, Marjorie Westscott... The world."  
  
"You're not in the agreement?"  
  
I didn't reply for another few minutes, until Nick pulled into the parking lot of Dell's Diner. I unhooked my seat belt and said, "I'm not dating him, Nick."  
  
I met him at the rear of the Tahoe and he led the way to the door. We entered the diner and I breathed in the familiar smells. As a team, we frequented this diner often; the head waitress, Ann, knew our orders and the cook knew Warrick and Nick by name. We walked past the bar and Ann looked up from the cash register. "Good morning," she smiled. "It's just you two this morning?"  
  
Nick grinned and replied, "We snuck out early."  
  
She chuckled and asked, "The usual?"  
  
"Please," he said. He looked at me and I nodded.  
  
Ann said, "It'll be about ten minutes."  
  
Nick led me down the aisle with his hand on the small of my back. We passed the other three customers, stragglers who had missed the before work rush at the diner and were now hastily consuming their coffee and scanning the paper. We sat at the next to last booth, Nick facing the way we had come and me facing the mounted television. Nick picked a pack of sugar out of the holder and massaged it between his fingers.  
  
"So, you and Hank aren't dating?"  
  
I diverted my eyes to the television, hoping for some interesting change of subject. "Did you know it's going to be eighty-one degrees today?"  
  
"Sara."  
  
I pursed my lips and looked down to him. "I, um, called it off after the Haviland mess."  
  
Nick frowned. "Why? You seemed really happy."  
  
"I was," I mumbled. "I think."  
  
"So who were you at the vineyard with the other night?"  
  
"Some girlfriends. I told them about Hank and we all went out."  
  
"Nice friends," he approved.  
  
"Yeah." I watched his fingers deftly work the sugar packet. I felt his eyes on me but I didn't trust myself to say anything more. What was there to say? I didn't want to admit that Grissom, by just being there, had been the main cause of me pushing Hank away. I traced an invisible pattern on the cool Formica tabletop and said, "You know, the worst part is that, even after exploring every possible screw-up and shitty thing that could have happened, I still couldn't see anything but good coming up between Hank and me."  
  
Nick rested the packet on the table and asked, "Then why?" I didn't reply; I felt I didn't need to. I saw his head bob in my peripheral vision and I heard his hushed voice whisper the solitary answer. "Grissom."  
  
A new waitress came up at that moment and asked us if we wanted coffee. Nick answered for both of us and she set two cups on the table. I kept my eyes down and I felt her quickly investigate my current state. She poured the coffee and a little sloshed over the edge of my cup. She didn't notice; she walked away.  
  
Nick took three cream packets from the same holder he had grabbed the sugar. He pushed two of them to me and put a new sugar packet next to them. I methodically mixed my coffee. He poured his single cream and his abused sugar into his cup and stirred it all together. He took a sip and opened his mouth as soon as it left his mouth, allowing cool air to flow in. I didn't take a sip of mine; I slowly wiped at the forming stain on the side of the ceramic. Nick asked gently, but with a slight edge on his voice, "Did he say anything to you about Hank?"  
  
"He told me that I deserved a personal life and I shouldn't change it because of what Gerard said."  
  
"What did Gerard say?"  
  
"He said that Hank moved the girl's bra so that the evidence would be more favorable for us."  
  
Nick frowned. He hated Philip Gerard. "But you did change it."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I'm not sure."  
  
"Because you thought Grissom really wanted you to?" I was silent, considering the possibility. I had left myself open for Grissom for almost two years. Had I really been giving him another chance? I hoped not and yet on some level I knew I had been doing exactly that.  
  
Nick saw the recognition in my eyes and asked, "How did you know Grissom before you moved here?"  
  
"He was a professor; I was his student," I replied easily. "He was visiting Harvard for a year. I had his class in the fall session."  
  
"And in the spring session?" I looked at Nick and he nodded, knowing exactly what the spring had been like. "And then he went home to California and you went to work?"  
  
"Yeah. And then two years later I joined him in California again."  
  
"And Grissom came to Vegas."  
  
"That's right."  
  
"Things ended badly between you two?"  
  
"Not badly enough as to where I would think I'd never heard from him again but badly enough to cause me to be immensely surprised when he called me in." I drank some of my coffee and waited to feel the liquid trail down my esophagus. "It was a surprise."  
  
"It was a surprise for all of us," Nick commented.  
  
The food arrived. We ate silently, burying the conversation for a few minutes. Nick ate his fried eggs and bacon and toast and I nibbled on my fruit and pancakes. Ann dropped by a few minutes into the consumption and left a pot of coffee on the table for us.  
  
I could barely eat half of my food. Instead, I spent my time pushing it around and thinking. I felt naked, sitting at the booth with Nick staring at me. My emotions and feelings about Grissom and our shared past had never been laid bare before. Nick was kind enough to not make me explain every minute detail of our clandestine tryst. He understood, I think, on some level how my emotions were acting in my life at that moment. He knew that I had attempted to get back what had once been. He knew that I had been informally rejected and now I was striving to find a place to stand.  
  
We finished our coffee in silence. Nick took out his wallet and laid down money. I took mine out to pay for the tip. He gave me a stern look but I just shrugged and placed it down anyway. He sighed and put his wallet away. We both stood and walked out of the diner, calling our goodbyes to Ann.  
  
In the Tahoe, the silence bordered on overwhelming. He drove me back to the crime lab to get my car. In the parking lot, I turned in my seat and said, "Thanks, Nick."  
  
He nodded and said, "Anytime, Sara. I'll see you tonight."  
  
I smiled and descended from the Tahoe. He waited until I opened my car door before driving away.  
  
  
  
Well that's the first chapter. I hope you liked it. 


	2. Only Happy When It Rains

Needs  
  
By Jess  
  
Author's Notes: Yes, it's been a long time. Do you even remember this story? :) I'm sorry for the delay! I would just like to say (and this has NOTHING to do with my writing) that I'm flipping excited about the Angels winning the World Series. HOORAY! :) Moving on...  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter One.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Spoilers: This is a post-fic for TAIE.  
  
CHAPTER TWO: Only Happy When It Rains  
  
I burst into the crime lab and pulled the door shut behind me. I shook my head, sending droplets of fallen rain back into the air. A thunderstorm had taken Las Vegas by surprise and it seemed as though God was against me. The fifteen-minute drive to work had taken forty and I knew Grissom would be less than pleased. I had already received one page from Catherine but my cell phone had conveniently died as soon as I set foot into my Tahoe.  
  
I rushed down the hall to the break room. It was empty. I took a sharp right and headed to Grissom's office. I knocked shortly and burst in. He was sitting at his desk, on the phone, and with hard eyes, he pointed at his watch. I cringed and nodded. He scribbled some words on a piece of paper in front of him and pushed it across the desk. I picked it up and nodded. I was at a double homicide at the freshmen dorm at UNLV with Sara. I looked up at him and he gave me a pointed look. I took it to heart and eased out quickly.  
  
I braved the rain again and tried to get to the college campus as quickly as possible. I found the dorm easily and O'Reilly was there to greet me. "What do we have, sir?" I asked.  
  
"'We' have nothing. Your little friend Sara, on the other hand, has everything in her hands," O'Reilly commented.  
  
I grinned. "Was she spitting out orders?"  
  
"More like chewing the ass of anyone who got near the scene." He pointed to the left and we walked down a narrow hall, littered with students and police officers. "Tori Hardwood, age eighteen, gunshot wound to the head. Her boyfriend, Matt, age twenty, still has the gun in his mouth."  
  
I grimaced and entered the room. Sure enough, a young redhead donned the floor by the window. A young man with light brown hair was on the lower bed of the two bunk beds. O'Reilly hadn't lied; the gun was resting with the nose in his mouth, his hand wrapped around the butt of it. Sara was kneeling next to the girl's body and she promptly turned when she heard us at the door.  
  
"Nick. Hey." O'Reilly nodded at her and left.  
  
"Hey, Sara." I stepped further into the room and set down my case. "Sorry."  
  
She shook her head and dismissed my apology. My eyes swept over the room again, looking at the details this time. The room was abnormally neat for a college student. The blinds were drawn but flashes of lightning could still be seen through the slits. Posters of the school's fall football schedule, Tim McGraw, and the Dixie Chicks decorated the walls. The bedspread underneath the boy was yellow; the upper bunk was blue. Two desks, two computers, a small refrigerator, and a small TV accented the room as well.  
  
I knelt by the bed. "What do you think?"  
  
She smiled slyly and said, "I don't think he shot himself."  
  
"Oh, yeah? Where did you come up with that?"  
  
"Just a hunch. Care to prove it for me?"  
  
I asked, "Did you already take pictures of him?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
I took my flashlight and shone it on the boy's face. Blood, bone, skin, and hair graced the bed sheets and the wall behind him; I knew without looking the back of his head was gone. The boy's face glistened. My light revealed that his clothes were slightly darker on his chest and under his arms. I touched the shirt; it was damp. I frowned and looked around the room for a thermostat. I didn't see one. "Sara, is it hot in here to you?"  
  
"A little, but I'm always cold. Why?"  
  
"How long have they been dead?"  
  
"Um, an hour and a half."  
  
I rested back on my heels and said, "It's hot in here. I'm guessing around eighty. He was sweating before he died. His shirt is damp and his skin is, too." Sara stood and walked over to me. She knelt down next to me and looked at his face. I turned to look at her. "If he really didn't shoot himself, and someone else did, with force, maybe-"  
  
"Maybe we can lift a print off his skin?" she asked, finishing my thought. She nodded slowly. "Quite possible." She reached over and brushed some of his hair off his face. I watched her fingers flick and retract. "Look, there's some slight bruising." I shined the light and pursed my lips. She nodded. "Yeah. I think we could do it." She nudged me with her elbow and said, "I think you could do it."  
  
I rolled my eyes. I snapped a quick picture of the bruising across his brow. I took a sheet of lifting tape and carefully applied it to his forehead. I finished up and, two minutes later, I had three prints lifted off of his forehead. "Sara."  
  
"Yeah?" She turned and grinned. "Nice."  
  
We finished processing the scene. The air was heavy in the dorm room; everything seemed to be weighing down on us. With a speed that seemed unnatural to both of us, we packed up and walked out through the lobby. The storm raged on outside. Sara turned to me and said, "I hitched a ride over here with O'Reilly."  
  
I nodded and grabbed her elbow, leading her to the very last door on the left. "What's wrong with your car?"  
  
"It wouldn't start." She shrugged. "I don't do cars."  
  
I smiled and said, "Wanna make a run for it?"  
  
She looked down at our kits. I did the same. Everything was sealed and the evidence was safe. No sir, there would be no water damage on our shift. She met my eye and said, "What the hell."  
  
I opened the door and we stepped out under the small overhang. I just grinned and took off. She was right on my tail. I took the automatic opener in my hands and punched the unlock button and the trunk button. I reached for the handle and pulled the rear door open after checking to see that Sara was not in its path. She quickly ducked underneath the covering and placed her kit on the floor. I moved to store mine next to hers but I was efficiently bumped into the rain with a swift turn of her hips. I stood, shocked, for just a moment and looked at her grinning face. I took a step forward to return to the shelter but she came forward, too, blocking my path.  
  
I moved to the left, then the right, but her hands met my chest and pressed hard, pushing me into the downpour. I called over the din of the rain, "What are you doing?"  
  
I glimpsed a grin as she backed up and allowed me to enter the dry area. She yelled back, "Getting you soaked!" I laughed; she had succeeded. She darted around the Tahoe to the passenger side. I stored my kit next to hers and shut the trunk. I hurried to join her in the dry safety of the car.  
  
We both sat still for a moment, trying to adjust to our wet clothes and the stillness of the Tahoe. Finally, a laugh escaped Sara's mouth. I turned to her and grinned. She smiled back and raked her fingers through her hair. "Well, Nick, you're fun to play in the rain with. I'll give you that much."  
  
I turned on the car and she adjusted the air vents. She turned the air to hot and sat silently as I backed out of the spot. I was driving down Conway when I spoke. "How are you feeling about... yesterday?"  
  
She undid her seatbelt and sat up straighter. I watched her shrug off her jacket. She frowned at the wet garment and tossed it into the back. "I don't know. I haven't talked to him yet, besides him handing out assignments. I don't think I want to."  
  
"So you're just going to leave it?"  
  
"I'm not sure yet," she sighed, pulling at her wet tank top. "Hey, Nick, can you stop by my apartment? I don't have a change of clothes in my locker and I don't want to wait to dry."  
  
"Yeah, sure," I replied. "Just point me in the right direction." I realized at that moment that, after working with her for over two years, I had never set foot into her personal space. I had been to Grissom's townhouse and Catherine's home. I was at Warrick's and Greg's apartments all the time. I had never seen the private Sara, the Sara that I realized I desperately wanted to learn.  
  
I didn't try to reignite the conversation concerning her and Grissom. I frankly didn't want to hear of her torment and anguish over him. I watched through my peripheral vision her slender fingers finding my CD book, flipping through every page. She paused only to read titles. When she reached the last CD, she turned to me and smirked. "Lemme guess. You're from Texas?"  
  
"Stereotype," I admonished.  
  
"If you were the sole example, it'd be a pretty damn true one. Take a right at the light." She put the CD book on the floor mat again and picked at the hem of her shirt. She sighed and said, "You know, I don't mind being in the rain. The cold skin and funny looking hair doesn't bother me. It's my clothes not fitting afterward that bothers me."  
  
A small smile magically appeared on my face at Sara's insight. She didn't strike me as the type of female who would be concerned with appearance. I guess, deep down, they all worried to some degree. I allowed my eyes to sweep across her shirt. Before it had been soaked, it had been a blood red color. It was a tank top, with lace for straps. It was feminine. I wondered what other girly things Sara owned. "I like it."  
  
"Like what?" I looked at her shirt. She looked down and smiled. "Thanks. Take a left."  
  
I listened to the few remaining directions. I parked in an empty spot and turned off the car. I saw Sara hesitate as she reached for the door, but she swiftly continued on her way. The rain had slowed. It was a mere drizzle now. Nevertheless, we walked hurriedly to the front door. Once inside, she led the way to her apartment. Fourth floor. 439.  
  
She slipped the key into the lock and twisted to the left. The knob turned and the door swung open. She stepped inside the apartment and moved toward the back. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll only be a minute." She disappeared down the hallway, leaving me to explore.  
  
For someone who was often perceived as cold and offstandish, Sara's home was surprisingly cozy. The colors were rich and dark. There were no lights on so I hit a switch. Dim light fell over the kitchen. It was very atmospheric. I moved out of the kitchen and into her living area. A couch, two over-stuffed chairs, a coffee table, a television, a computer, a desk, and an entertainment center stood in their specific places, places I could tell were arranged just so. Paintings graced the walls. She didn't possess too many knick-knacks. After growing up in a house full of odds and ends, the absence struck me funny; looking around again, it fit me as typical Sara. It was right.  
  
I walked to the entertainment center. She had a nice stereo system. I glanced at the DVD and VCR. She was missing a Play Station. I reminded myself to tease her about her lack of entertainment later. I perused the CD titles. Beatles, Elvis, Miles David, Queen, Melissa Etheridge, Blondie, James Taylor, Bob Marley. She certainly had an eclectic taste in listening choices. Below the CDs were books of fiction. Patricia Cornwell, John Grisham, Michael Crichton, Tom Clancy. She was a normal, everyday reader. I looked on the next shelf. I grinned at my findings. Here was the Sara I knew and loved. Forensic textbooks and journals met my eye. I looked on the last shelf and scoured the DVD and video titles.  
  
"Having fun, Nosey?"  
  
Her breath tickled my neck. I jumped and turned around. She grinned, baring her gapped teeth, and pulled at her freshly brushed hair. She wore a tank top that looked identical as the one she had just shed except for the color. The dark green brought out the myriad of colors in her eyes. I shrugged and said, "You have very interesting tastes."  
  
She gave me a funny look. Realization dawned and she said, "You've never been here before."  
  
I nodded. "I'm aware of that."  
  
Her hand slipped around my elbow and she pulled on my arm. "Well, that's my kitchen. You were just in my living room." She walked down the hallway and turned on the light. "That's the guest room." I peeked into the room. It was sparsely decorated. She kept walking. "This is my bedroom." She turned and leaned against the wall. "That's the grand tour."  
  
I smiled and looked into her bedroom. The room was large and spacious. Another door, the bathroom door, was to the left. The dominant colors were ivory and dark purple. The dresser and bed frame and bedside tables were mahogany. On a small table by the window, an orchid stood tall and alert. I inspected the plant and frowned. I remembered hearing Sara talk to Catherine about a plant from Grissom. That had been years ago. She couldn't still have it, could she?  
  
I turned to her and smiled to hide my slight confusion. "Nice."  
  
She laughed. "I'm glad you approve." She returned to the kitchen. "You should come by more often."  
  
I was taken aback by her offer, her sheer forwardness. I followed her and nodded. "Yeah. I think I'll take you up on your offer." She turned to face me and she smiled. I smiled back. After a moment our smiles dropped and we stood in the kitchen, staring at each other. Beyond the rain, I swore I heard the blood rushing through my veins and, for an instant, I could hear hers too. I memorized the planes of her face, the contours of her neck, the curls of her drying hair. Under my intense gaze, her eyes dropped and she took a step back, mentioning work. I nodded, oblivious to her comment, and followed her back to the Tahoe, back to work.  
  
That's all for now. I'll try to update soon. :) 


	3. Bluff

Needs by Jess  
  
Author's Notes: Thank you for all the reviews. To some: sorry, this is a Sara/Nick story. I already have two Sara/Grissom stories under my belt. To others: yea! It's a Sara/Nick story! :) Please keep reading.  
  
Disclaimer: They're not mine.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Spoilers: This is a post-fic for TAIE.  
  
  
  
Chapter Three: Bluff  
  
I heard the knock on the door and my eyes fluttered shut. It was my first night off since my other "night off." I knew that I had been over-exerting myself since my breakfast with Nick. I didn't want to think about Grissom. I didn't want to be reminded of what I had willingly given up. I muted the television and pushed myself off the couch. I frowned as I walked toward the door. I knew I had willingly given Hank up, but was I really over Grissom?  
  
I opened the door and laughed. Nick stood a few inches away, holding up a brown paper bag and wearing a goofy grin. I shut the door to slide the chain out. I reopened the door and he was leaning against the doorjamb. "You know," he drawled. "It's not nice to slam the door in the face of your friends who give up their night off to come see you."  
  
"I thought you're working tonight," I commented.  
  
"Yeah, me too," he grinned, stepping inside. "But I got to work and there was this void of work. Griss sent me home but told me I'm on call. I said to myself, 'Hey, self? Sara's at home tonight.'" He set the paper bag on the counter and said, "And here I am."  
  
"I'm going out." I folded my arms across my chest.  
  
"Bull shit," he said, opening the bag. "It's eight o'clock and you're already in your pajamas. The television's on and there's a book on the couch next to what I believe are blankets." He took a few strong strides over to the couch and picked up one of the blankets. "Blankets that you were just wrapped up in." I frowned and he laughed. "They don't call me an investigator for nothing. Nice pajamas, by the way." I looked down at my black camisole and tiger print pants. I felt my blood speed to my cheeks. I pursed my lips and slipped to other side of the island in the kitchen, hiding myself from the waist down. He chuckled at my actions and said, "I don't think you bought yourself those."  
  
"Why are you here?"  
  
"I'm hungry," he shrugged, back at the island again. He removed three Chinese take-out boxes and a container of egg drop soup from the bag and said, "Since you seem deficient in the act of feeding yourself, I decided to bring you some food. Who got you the pants?"  
  
I sighed and moved to the pantry. I took a bottle of wine and stepped back into his view. "My friend."  
  
"Greg?"  
  
I laughed. "No. Kate."  
  
"Same friend who took you to Pahrump?"  
  
"Yes, one of them." I didn't offer more than he asked. I took two glasses and poured the wine. He carried the boxes over to the coffee table and set everything down. He approached me in the kitchen and eased the bottle and tumblers from my hands. He pushed my heel with the toe of his shoe and I slowly headed over to our meal.  
  
"Did you get this in Pahrump?" he asked, checking the label. He sat down next to my pile of blankets and rested the bottle on the coffee table.  
  
"Yes, actually," I replied, taking one of the glasses. I eased myself onto the couch, about eight inches from him, and let out a long breath.  
  
He didn't notice my discomfort. Instead, he held out his glass and said, "To a night off?"  
  
I smiled. His eyes shone as he encouraged me to relax. "To a night off."  
  
The glasses clinked and we both took a sip. Soon after, Nick handed me a pair of chop sticks and opened the boxes. I peeked into one of them and grinned. "Vegetable lo mein. Nice."  
  
He didn't reply; he just smiled. He looked at the soup and said, "Spoons?"  
  
"Island. Left drawer."  
  
He retrieved two spoons and two forks. I raised my eyebrows and he said, "I suck at using chopsticks."  
  
We were silent for a few minutes, concentrating on eating our food, when I spoke up suddenly. I didn't feel the words in my brain. I only heard them in the air. "I'm not deficient in feeding myself."  
  
Nick chuckled, nearly choking on his sweet and sour pork in the process, and stammered, "Yes, you are." He took in some wine and gave me a look. "You've gotten skinnier over the past two months. You can see your ribs. You don't like to eat, or you're too busy to, I haven't decided which one is correct yet."  
  
"How do you plan on deciding?" The question escaped me, just as my last comment had.  
  
The spoon froze halfway to his mouth. He slowly guided it there and captured the soup. He removed the spoon and turned to look at me. "I think I'm going to have to eat more dinners with you." I laughed and looked back down at the box in my hands. Nick reached out and touched my hand. "I'm not joking."  
  
I ceased laughing. I moved the noodles around with my chopsticks and asked, "Nick, what are you doing?"  
  
His hand dropped from mine and I cringed. "I didn't want you to be alone tonight."  
  
"I'm glad you're here," I offered.  
  
"Yeah, right." His sarcasm bit me and I pursed my lips.  
  
"I am. I'm being honest."  
  
"But if I was Grissom..." His voice trailed off and he reached for the chicken fried rice. I watched his jaw move as he chewed. I observed the strong muscles and I allowed myself to let go, for just a second.  
  
"I'm glad you're not Grissom."  
  
He turned to look at me. "Why?"  
  
"Grissom and I have... issues." I rested the box on the coffee table and touched his arm lightly. "You and I, on the other hand, do not." I took the food from his grasp and put it next to mine. "Why did you really come over here?"  
  
He shrugged and I smiled. Nick, the insatiable ladies' man, was at a loss for words. I mimicked his actions and stood. "Fine." I stood up and headed for the door. He turned to watch me. I undid the deadbolt and pulled open the door. I leaned against it and said, "Dinner was great. See ya tomorrow."  
  
He laughed and stood up. He walked through the kitchen and grabbed his coat, his keys. My heart started pounding. Was he really leaving? I glimpsed his smirk and I glared. He's calling my bluff. I folded my arms across my chest and raised my chin. Fine.  
  
He folded his jacket over his arm and came to stand in front of me. He nodded his head slowly. "I knew you were deficient."  
  
I laughed. "Whatever."  
  
He took a step closer to me and asked, "You sure you want me to go?"  
  
I frowned. "Yes."  
  
He nodded. "All right then."  
  
I never saw it coming. I didn't see the warning in his eyes. Suddenly, his left hand was on my waist and his right hand was on my neck. His lips were on mine and all I could do was stand there. My past experiences with Nick flew through my head. It had all led up to this. What the hell was I doing?  
  
What the hell was he doing?  
  
I didn't care. I honestly didn't care that I had just left Hank and I was still in turmoil over Grissom. I didn't care. I had someone in front of me who, apparently, was attracted to me. Someone who was doing the initiative.  
  
The pressure against my lips lessened and I leaned forward. I heard a noise to the left and suddenly his arm was behind my back. His jacket was on the floor. My hands snaked up his arms. I touched the hair on the back of his head. It was soft and fuzzy against my fingers. I pulled him closer. I felt his lips break into a smile. My tongue, on its own accord, danced across his teeth, which quickly parted.  
  
Hello, Nick, my name is Sara. Nice to meet you.  
  
I don't know when I realized that I was sandwiched between my front door and Nick Stokes with all my neighbors free to watch if they so desired. I blushed immediately and pressed my lips firmly against his, ending the kiss. He pulled away and I opened my eyes in time to see him looking back at me.  
  
My hands trailed down to his firm chest. I looked at his collar and said, "Well."  
  
"If you've changed your mind about kicking me out," he whispered. I laughed and he did the same. His forehead rested against mine. "Well, if you have, I'd still like to eat with you."  
  
I nodded. "Yeah."  
  
"All right," he smiled. He took a step back and bent down. He picked up his jacket and put it back on the island. He looked over at me and said, "Come on."  
  
I glanced down the hallway before shutting the door. No neighbors. I locked the door and walked hesitantly back to the couch. He had the remote in his hands. He found a channel with a movie on, one I didn't recognize, and he looked up at me. "Dinner and a movie."  
  
I sat down next to him and picked up my food. "Sounds good."  
  
  
  
There's more; of course there's more. That's too happy to be the end. What's a story without turmoil? :) Sorry this was short. 


End file.
